


The Jump

by anglophileadventures



Series: Fractures and Fragments [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Depression, Gen, Gladers, Graphic Description, I basically ignore TFC but everything else should be compliant, Intrusive Thoughts, Major Character Injury, Minho is Keeper of the Runners, Minor Character Death, Runner Alby, Runner Newt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Glade, book!verse, non-compliant with The Fever Code, the Glade pre-Thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anglophileadventures/pseuds/anglophileadventures
Summary: Newt in the Glade, pre-Thomas. Newt starts out hopeful for finding a way out, but as time goes on, he watches more of his friends die, and meanwhile they are no closer to leaving the maze. He slowly descends into darkness, eventually taking drastic measures to escape the life he hates.





	1. Newt

**Author's Note:**

> ***PLEASE READ THE TAGS***  
> This story deals with some heavy themes of suicide and depression, and a lot of the suicidal thoughts/descriptions could be directly triggering to someone with tendencies in that area, so PLEASE take care of yourselves and absolutely do not read this if it will upset or trigger you. The description of the actual attempt isn't that graphic, but a lot of Newt's thoughts leading up to it are a bit graphic and disturbing.
> 
> A huge shout out to Dreams ([tasteofdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofdreams)), Amirah ([thatdragonchic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic)), Chloe ([fansarewaiting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansarewaiting)), and Amy ([rxtrogression](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxtrogression/pseuds/rxtrogression)) for reading my previews and helping me out with certain parts/conversations, and just generally being so excited for this series which made me even more excited for it! As you all know I've been working on it for a while now and I'm so happy the first part is finally going up. Hopefully the next part will follow soon!
> 
> This is the remix of the 2015 version of this fic. Most of the bare bones of the actual plot (at least, the part concerning Newt's attempt) is the same, but I wanted to update it to add more world-building and just generally do a better job writing it. I'm leaving the old version up still (for now lol, we'll see, I might delete it out of mortification later) because even though I don't really like a lot of it any more, I don't want to just erase it like it never happened, and it's still interesting to see the evolution this story went through.

**Day 87 of Maze Trials**

Newt finished the map of his section for that day, then dug into the stack, frowning in concentration, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he searched for the map he wanted. When he found it, he pulled it out of the stack, then kept searching for another map.

He held all three up next to each other, his eyes scanning quickly to confirm his suspicions. When he was sure he was right, he held them up for Minho to inspect as well.

“Minho, look. They’re the same. This is the one I did today,” he indicated the map on the far left, “this is the one from thirty-six days ago,” he indicated the middle one, “and this is the one from seventy-two days ago,” he indicated the map on the far right. “They’re all the same. And I’m not sure, but I think - ”

Newt went back to the stack of maps and dug through them again, pulling out the ones he needed and holding them up for comparison. “Yes, see? The map from yesterday is the same as the one from thirty-six days before that. I think… I think the Maze is repeating.”

Minho nodded, digging through his own stack of maps. “I was wondering the same thing,” he said. “I thought the Maze layouts were starting to feel familiar…” He lined up several of his maps. “Same for my section, see? Every thirty-six days, they’re repeating.”

Newt felt something blossoming in his chest, something hadn’t dared to let himself feel for months now. “Does this mean…” Newt looked at Minho, and he was fairly certain the shining hopeful look in Minho’s eyes was mirrored in his own. “There’s a pattern? We found something?”

“We found something,” Minho confirmed. “I don’t have a clue what it means yet, but it has to mean something. There could be a lead here; this could be the beginning of a solution to the Maze.”

“What do you think the pattern is?” Newt asked eagerly, peering over Minho’s shoulder as he turned and bent over his stack of maps, spreading them out. “Maybe we’re supposed to compare the sections day to day, or week to week? Or maybe we’re supposed to compare all the sections together? Maybe they fit together somehow.”

“Could be,” Minho said, still spreading out the maps of his section. “We should try everything, see what works. Hey, bring your section maps over here.”

Newt went and fetched his stack of maps. “Here, this one is the same day as your one there. See if they line up somehow, on one of the edges?”

“Hey, Alby, come look at this,” Minho called as the other boy entered the map room, just in from running his section.

One by one the other Runners trickled back, and Minho enlisted them all to help in looking for clues within the repeating patterns. They worked for hours, right through dinner, but in the end came up with no satisfactory answers.

Minho ran a hand through his hair raggedly. “Maybe we should call it a night. We haven’t found anything yet; we should probably give ourselves a rest from looking at these shuck maps and try again tomorrow morning before we head out.”

Most of the other Runners agreed, desperate for a bit of rest, but Newt wasn’t ready to quit just yet. “There has to be something here,” he insisted, rubbing his sticky eyes. “There’s some clue, something we’re not seeing.”

“Maybe we still need more maps,” Jack suggested. “Maybe there’s more to the pattern that we don’t have yet.”

“That’s a good point,” Minho said. “Besides, you need sleep, Newt. We’ll have to get up earlier than usual to look at the maps again, and then we still need to run the Maze. Especially now that we know there is a pattern, it’s more important than ever to keep mapping it.”

“If I could just see how the pieces are supposed to fit together…” Newt started. “There’s so much data here, if I could just figure out how to organise it all in the right way, I’m sure the pattern would be obvious.”

“Newt, you need sleep,” Alby told him firmly. “We all do.”

“I don’t think I could sleep now anyway,” Newt shook his head. “Not with all these bloody maps buzzing around in my head.”

“Well, I’m pulling rank,” Minho said. “You need sleep. We’ll come back to it in the morning. Oh, and guys?” he added, addressing all the Runners. “Let’s just sit on this for now, ok? Don’t tell anyone about the Maze repeating. At least not until we know what it means. I’ll give Nick the rundown, but other than that, let’s keep a tight lid on it, alright?”

The other Runners agreed, then tiredly shuffled off to grab a quick bite before bed. Newt, Alby and Minho stayed behind.

“Newt, come on, you heard Minho,” Alby said. “We gotta get some rest. But we can come back tomorrow bright and early and keep trying.”

“Please let me stay, just a little bit longer,” Newt pleaded. “I feel like we’re right on the edge of figuring something out, and if we leave it now it’ll slip away.”

Alby and Minho shared a look. “Newt, your brain needs rest,” Alby said. “I know it’s frustrating to leave when we feel like we’re so close to a breakthrough, but you’re not operating at full capacity right now. None of us are. And maybe your mind will keep working on the puzzle while you’re asleep, and you’ll wake up with a new insight.”

Newt could see that they wouldn’t relent, so he finally agreed. But part of him wished he could work through the night, if it meant getting any closer to finding a way out of the Maze. He was sure he could find the clue, if he only had a little more time. He just needed more time.

 

**Day 108**

“Still at it?” Minho asked, entering the map room and closing the door behind him. “Find anything?”

“No,” Newt answered wearily. “If I had, I would’ve told you already.”

Minho looked over his shoulder for a few seconds. “That’s a good idea, comparing the maps from every six days. Six is the square root of thirty-six, could be significant. We hadn’t thought of that before.”

“Yeah, well, it couldn’t have been that good an idea, because it didn’t bloody work,” Newt said bitterly. “There’s nothing significant here.”

“I brought you some food,” Minho said, holding up a sandwich Newt hadn’t even noticed he was holding. “Fry already packed up dinner, but I snagged you this.”

“Thanks, Min,” Newt sighed.

“How long have you been out here?”

“I dunno, hours.”

“Think maybe you should call it a night?”

Newt met Minho’s eye, chewing his lip. “I just know there has to be something here, Minho. There’s something I’m missing, and if I could just figure out what it is, maybe it would lead to a clue about how to get out of this place.”

“I know,” Minho answered. “I just feel like you’re getting a little… obsessive. You can have time to do other things, you know. Like eat. And sleep.”

Newt blinked, feeling a painful squeeze in his heart. Surely Minho, of all people, understood how important this was? “Minho, we have a chance to get out of here. Don’t you want to do anything and everything we can to take that chance?”

“Yeah, I do, but you’re not going to be able to do anything if you run yourself into the ground.”

“I’m not running myself into the ground, I’m just the only one who actually wants to leave this place, apparently,” Newt answered hotly.

Minho’s eyes flashed. “Of course you’re not the only one who wants to leave. You think I don’t want out of this shithole? We all want to leave. But you’re taking it to an extreme. You still have to do things like eat and sleep, ok? You’re not invincible.”

“I’m fine, Minho,” Newt said dismissively.

“Oh yeah? When was the last time you ate anything? Do you even remember?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit. How many hours of sleep did you get last night? More than three?”

“Yes,” Newt said defensively.

“Really? How many? Tell me, slinthead, exactly how many.”

“...Three and a half.”

Minho swore, turning away from Newt and rubbing his face in frustration. “Come on, Newt. How are you even functioning? I need you in top form to run the Maze, and you’re telling me you’re routinely going out on less than four hours of sleep? What if something happened to you? What if you made a mistake, because you were tired and forgot something, and then you never came back?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Newt muttered. “Besides, I don’t think running the Maze is so important anymore. We already have all the different configurations, and we know it. We know them all. They just repeat over and over, and they’re always the same. So it’s pointless to waste time out in the Maze mapping what we already know. We should use that time to figure out what the patterns mean.”

“You don’t _know_ that, Newt,” Minho groaned, rubbing his forehead distractedly.

“Yes, I do,” Newt argued.

“No, you don’t!” Minho burst out. “You _don’t_ know that. Not for sure. And if you’re wrong, you could be gambling all of our lives, our freedom, on a hunch.”

Newt clenched his jaw, refusing to say any more.

“Listen, Newt,” Minho sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is our only option, ok? We have to keep running the Maze and looking for a way out. We have to. Because the only other option is giving up. I’m not giving up, and neither are you.”

“I’m not giving up,” Newt said softly. “I just think our efforts would be better spent on the maps and figuring out the pattern.”

“Ok,” Minho said, nodding. “Ok, I get it. But we need to reach some kind of compromise. I need you out in the Maze. An exit could still open up, on some particular day. Maybe it only opens once a year or something, and maybe the maps can help us figure that out. But we have to keep running the Maze, just in case.”

“Don’t worry,” Newt rolled his eyes. “You know I can do this. I’ve been running the Maze for months, I’m not going to suddenly miss an exit opening up just because I’m a little sleep-deprived.”

“It’s not just about finding a way out, Newt,” Minho told him. “You need to take care of yourself. You know what happens to Runners who get sloppy.”

Newt looked down at the ground. “Yeah, I know.”

 

**Day 161**

Newt saw the Griever almost first thing in the morning. He had just set out to run his section, and the hazy, soft morning light was still growing in the sky. He turned a corner, and there it was.

He didn’t think, just reacted, flinging himself back around the corner the way he came, pressing himself to the wall, hand over his mouth to muffle his panicked sobs.

He waited, listening, wanting to peek around the corner to see if the Griever was still there, but not daring to show himself and possibly alert the Griever to his presence. Finally, after nearly half an hour of shrinking against the wall, he worked up enough courage to poke his head around the corner just enough to see the corridor.

The Griever was gone.

Newt leaned back, sinking to the floor slowly, sliding down the wall until he was sat up against it. He put his head on his knees, and allowed a few terrified tears to leak out of his eyes, running down his nose and dripping off the end. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart.

He wanted more than anything to go back to the Glade, to safety. The thought of continuing to run the Maze made him want to hide and never come out. But he knew the others were counting on him.

_The Maze will be the same as thirty-six days ago. You don’t have to run it again to know that. It’s always the same, so why bother? Just go back to the Glade. Hide in the map room, wait for everyone to come back and pretend you ran your section as usual._

Newt screwed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples furiously with the heel of his hands. He took a few more deep, steadying breaths, then forced himself to stand up and turn the corner again. The Griever was still nowhere to be seen.

He ran on.

 

**Day 182**

The longer it went on, the more hopeless he felt. _Run the Maze. Draw the map. Look for patterns._ Lather, rinse and repeat. The routine of it wrapped around his chest, climbing and clawing its way up his neck as it tightened; squeezing, suffocating, choking. Every day that went by with no change, nothing new, it got a little tighter.

He remembered how hopeful he had felt when they first noticed the repetition; how sure he had been that that meant they were close to finding a pattern, a clue. An exit. And here they were, months later, and nothing to show for it. They were no closer to finding a way out than they had been on day one.

He kept looking at the maps, pouring over them, obsessing over them. It wasn’t that he really expected to find anything; but something inside him compelled him to keep looking, keep searching. There must be something; something they’d missed. Surely the Creators wouldn’t have put them here for no reason. There must be something they were supposed to do, some way to get out.

He kept looking at the maps, trying patterns he’d already tried at least a dozen times, rearranging them in the same combinations. Maybe this time, he would spot something, something he had missed all the other times. Maybe next time, the next pattern, would reveal something. Maybe the next one. Or the next one.

The invisible constriction around his chest tightened.

 

**Day 212**

“You know, I’m actually starting to agree with you,” Alby said.

He and Newt were lying back in the grass, relaxing after a day of running, and taking a break from trying to figure out the maps.

“About what?” Newt asked lazily.

“About running the Maze, shuck-face,” Alby replied good-naturedly. “I think we’ve already seen all the configurations there are. There’s really no point running it anymore, we know exactly what’s out there: absolutely shuck-all, ‘cept a handful of Grievers.”

“Yeah?” Newt said. “Will you help me convince Minho we should spend less time running the Maze and more time figuring out the maps?” Maybe if he could get all the Runners to look at the maps together, someone would have a new idea, something they hadn’t tried before, something that might lead to a breakthrough.

“I don’t know,” Alby said, turning his head to look at Newt. “I’m not sure I see the point of the maps either.”

“There’s got to be a meaning behind the repetition,” Newt insisted. “It’s driving me mad that I haven’t figured it out yet, but I know it’s got to be there. It’s just got to.”

“Maybe,” Alby allowed. “But why don’t we focus on building what we have here? Our life in the Glade wouldn’t be half bad, if we could just get a handle on the structure and organisation.”

The corner of Newt’s mouth tugged up. “You gunning for Nick’s job now?”

Alby smiled. “No. Well, not yet, anyway. I would need some real leadership experience first. But I don’t think I’m reaching my full potential as a Runner. I’d rather be helping out in the Glade, helping us build a life we can be proud of. And I think Nick’s done a fine job, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do better.”

“Sure,” Newt agreed, feeling a little surprised. “I had no idea you felt that way, Alby. That could be really good, for everyone. What do you have in mind?”

Alby’s enthusiasm was palpable. “Well, Nick’s a great guy, but you know he doesn’t mind letting things get a little… chaotic. I think we could cut down on problems and disputes if we had more of a focus on order, keeping everything running nice and smooth.”

“Yeah, I could see that.”

“And you know how I like to be prepared and organised, so I think we should have plans of action in place for various situations that could arise, so we’re ready and we know what to do.”

“Yes, I _do_ know,” Newt teased. “I’ve seen how grumpy you get when you can’t be prepared and have every little detail planned out.”

Alby flashed a wry grin. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But if we had set plans ready to go, then there would be less panicking and losing time trying to catch up, because we’d already be ready to jump into action. We’d still have to be ready to adapt in case something completely unexpected happens, but it would be a good start.” Alby looked at Newt, his eyes serious. “So, what do you think?”

Newt was mildly surprised that Alby even wanted his opinion, but he gave it gladly. “Actually, I think those are great ideas. I think you would make a really good leader.”

Alby smiled wide, looking happy and, Newt would almost say, relieved. “Thanks, Newt. That means a lot. And listen, I want you there with me. You have a way with people, you could do so much good in the Glade.”

Newt blinked in surprise. “Me? Are you sure you’re not thinking of someone else?”

“Yes, you,” Alby rolled his eyes. “People like you. You get along with everyone.” He looked away, sheepish. “I could use some help in that area.”

“I don’t know,” Newt said sincerely. “I guess I’ve never thought about being anything other than a Runner. I don’t think I’d be any use at anything else. Not that I’m such an outstanding Runner, or that I love the job so much,” he laughed. “Just that, it’s the only thing I know how to do. It’s the only thing I know for sure I _can_ do.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to quit tomorrow. I know it’ll take some time before Minho has enough reserves for either of us to step down. But I know you could do something else, Newt, if that was what you wanted.”

“So are you going to quit being a Runner?” Newt asked. “When are you going to break the news to Minho?”

“We’ve been going through reserves pretty quick lately, so not for a while I think,” Alby grimaced. “I wouldn’t want to leave Minho in the lurch with a Runner short or anything. But yeah, I want to resign, at some point.”

Newt nodded thoughtfully. He really did think it was a great idea for Alby, but he still wasn’t sure if it was a great idea for himself. He thought perhaps Alby was being a little too generous with his estimation of Newt’s abilities. Except for those first few weeks in the Glade when they’d all been desperately trying to get the farm running and take care of the animals, he’d never been anything but a Runner. It was who he was, and he couldn’t imagine himself in any other role.

 

**Day 223**

“Has anyone seen Jack come back yet?”

Newt looked up. Emmett, one of the six other boys scattered around the map room, was the one who had spoken.

The seven of them looked around at each other, everyone waiting for someone else to speak. Newt caught Minho’s glance, and he saw worry in his eyes.

“So no one’s seen him?” Minho asked urgently. Each boy shook their head no. Minho looked at his watch. “There’s still half an hour until the doors close. Alby, Percy, Alan, Billy, can you four go make sure he’s not in the Homestead or something? And if you can, check around the rest of the Glade.” Alby and the other boys nodded and ran off. “Emmett, you’re section six and he’s section five, right? You didn’t see him on the way back?”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning, when he split off to go to his section,” Emmett said, his voice thick with dread.

Minho’s mouth tightened to a grim line. Without another word, he strode off toward the South doors, Newt and Emmett following in his wake.

They hovered on the threshold, peering out into the Maze for any sign of Jack. “Should we go look for him?” Newt muttered to Minho.

Minho blew air out between his lips, thinking. He looked at his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes… there’s not enough time. It’s too big a risk. Even if it wasn’t completely against the rules, I can’t. I can’t lose more Runners.” He glanced sideways at Newt, checking his reaction. Newt’s heart thumped in horror, but he met Minho’s eye and nodded solemnly.

Either Jack made it back on his own, or he didn’t. Those were the rules.

Emmett paced back and forth behind them, occasionally getting closer to the opening to look out into the Maze again, eyes scanning up and down the corridor quickly, before returning to pacing back and forth.

When there were only five minutes left before the doors closed, Alby and the others came jogging up to them. “Find him?” Minho asked, and Newt felt his last bit of hope die as Alby shook his head, his eyes sorrowful.

All seven boys turned back to the opening, acutely aware of the seconds ticking away. Newt hugged his arms tight around his chest, trying to contain the churning of his insides. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alan pressing his hands to his cheeks, fingernails digging into his skin, and he could hear Billy to his right breathing in short gasps. Emmett had broken out in sobs, and he went right up to the threshold of the doors, as close as he could get without crossing over, and began screaming Jack’s name into the Maze.

“Jack!” he screamed, the desperation in his voice obvious. “Where are you? Jack!”

As the doors began to close, Emmett started shaking, turning pale, and the hands he put over his mouth didn’t stop Newt from hearing the words pouring out of him. “No, no, no,” he moaned desperately, tears coursing down his face, unable to tear his eyes away from the ever-shrinking gap.

When the doors snapped shut, the tears in Newt’s eyes spilled over. He heard several other boys sniffling. He could see Alby’s face, tense with pain; Billy, hand over his eyes, shaking with the effort of holding in his sobs; Percy, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving.

“God-fucking-damnit!” Minho swore furiously, hurling his pack as far as he could, and when that wasn’t enough, he went and kicked violently at one of the fences of the animal pens. Newt saw Alan startle at the impact, eyes darting back and forth from Minho to the other boys. Minho kicked over and over, swearing with each blow, until finally Newt went and pulled him away, placing his hands on Minho’s shoulders to try and calm him down.

Minho tore himself away from Newt, but at least he stopped kicking and throwing things. He paced rapidly, rubbing his temple with one hand as he went.

“Someone find Garrett and tell him he’s going to have to suit up tomorrow. And he’s our last reserve, so we’ll need to start training someone else immediately. Shuck…” he trailed off, thinking. “It’ll have to be Hank. He was the only one who was even close to adequate at the last tryout. Shit, shit, shit!” he yelled, voice echoing across the Glade.

“Minho,” Newt said softly, his voice breaking.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Minho said, running both hands through his hair and tugging at it. He looked up at the shaking and crying group of boys, and his eyes were despondent. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, still looking at them. “I feel like this is my fault. That’s the fourth person we’ve lost; the third in the last two months. And that’s not even counting Ric and Erwin getting stung. I’m letting all of you down.” His gaze dropped to the ground.

“Minho, it’s not your fault,” Alby said, taking a step towards him. “The Maze is dangerous. We all knew what we were in for when we volunteered.”

“None of us blame you,” Newt chimed in, glancing at Alby gratefully. When he looked back at Minho, he was agitatedly rubbing his forehead again.

Newt noticed a glint of silver, a flash of red, off to the side. A beetle blade. In the midst of everything, the Creators were still spying on them. He felt a surge of anger. How dare the Creators intrude on their private grief? What could they possibly be gaining from watching this? It was twisted and sick, and Newt hated them. He hated them.

“We’ll have to make some changes,” Minho muttered, almost to himself. “That’s too many. Too many lost. We can’t keep going like this.” He looked up at them and crossed his arms, planting his feet firmly. “Ok, from now on, we go out later and come back earlier. Almost all of the Grievers we’ve ever seen have been out either in the morning or the evening, before the sun has fully risen or just before sunset. And when Ric and Erwin and Carl were stung it’s always been in the evening when light is low. So I want us out in the Maze in low light as little as possible. Everyone got it?”

“How will we run the whole section if we’re starting later and coming back earlier?” Percy asked.

“We’ll just have to run faster,” Minho said, shaking his head.

Percy looked worried, but he nodded, and most of the other boys nodded as well. Without another word, Minho turned and walked away. It looked like he was heading toward the Deadheads.

Newt let him go, turning instead to Emmett, who had fallen to his knees and was curled over, forehead almost touching the dirt. His hands were covering his face, and his shoulders shook with sobs, but he was completely silent. As he watched, Newt’s eyes filled with tears once again. He knelt beside the other boy and tentatively placed a hand on his back, rubbing lightly.

At his touch, Emmett looked up, and Newt saw his eyes were bloodshot and his face was streaked with tears. He held Newt’s gaze, and his arms wrapped around his middle as though that were the only thing holding him together.

“I’m sorry,” Newt whispered. “You were close to him?”

“He - ” Emmett choked out. “He was…” Unable to continue, he screwed his eyes shut and dissolved into tears again. Newt swallowed painfully, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he continued to stroke Emmett’s back.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologised again, closing his eyes briefly. It felt like such a pitiful offering in the face of such tremendous grief, but it was all he could do. He thought about how he would feel if something happened to Minho or Alby. The pressure in his chest built, and his heart seared with pain. A few more tears trickled down his face.

He stayed with Emmett until the other boy was finally overcome with exhaustion and fell asleep there on the ground. Then Newt covered him with a blanket, and went to his own bed, where he curled into himself, trying and failing not to imagine what had happened to Jack. When he finally drifted off to sleep, his pillow was damp, and his dreams were haunted by Grievers and cries for help from a boy who was always just around the next corner.

 

**Day 237**

Emmett never came back from running the Maze that evening. Newt waited with Minho outside the South doors, but he could tell by the hopeless expression on Minho’s face and the resigned slump of his shoulders that neither of them expected him to appear.

When the doors finally began to grind shut, Minho said bitterly, “Well, at least he waited until we had given his replacement _some_ training.”

“Minho,” Newt objected softly, feeling a pang in his heart at his words, even though Minho’s deliberately careless tone hadn’t escaped him.

“What do you want me to say, Newt?” Minho exploded. “‘Oh no, poor Emmett, we’re all going to miss him so much’? He was a shuck-faced coward, Newt, and now because of him I have to send in Hank, who’s only had two weeks of training, who was a fucking Greenie less than three months ago. I just hope I’m not sending him to his death, too.”

“Maybe it was an accident, maybe he didn’t…”

Minho gave Newt a piercing look. “We both know he never meant to come back. As soon as Jack died, he’d made up his mind.”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have sent him back into the Maze, if you knew how hard he was taking losing Jack,” Newt said angrily.

Minho exhaled through his nose and looked down at the ground, the fight suddenly gone out of him. He covered his eyes with one hand, and Newt was surprised to see that it was shaking.

“What else could I have done, Newt?” he asked, and the way his voice cracked made a lump appear in Newt’s throat. He dropped his hand and looked directly into Newt’s eyes. “Seriously, what could I have done? What am I supposed to do? We’re dropping like flies. I can barely keep up with replacing someone before someone else dies or gets stung. We need everyone we can get.”

“I know,” Newt answered miserably. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Minho looked at Newt as if to say, _isn’t it?_

“It wasn’t your fault,” Newt insisted. “And listen, Hank is a good kid, he’s quick and he’s got a good head, he’ll be fine. And we’re all being more careful now. It’ll get better.”

Minho sighed and shook his head. “I hope you’re right,” he said grimly.

 

**Days 238 - 282**

He couldn’t remember exactly when it started, but somewhere along the line, some part of him gave up hope. There was no clue to be found in the maps. There was no way out.

They were trapped. Forever.

He spent less and less time looking at the maps. It never helped anyway; he was just endlessly trying the same things over and over, hoping that maybe this time he would see something new, something he hadn’t noticed before, but he never did. Eventually he stopped caring about the maps altogether. It didn’t mean anything. The Maze was repeating, and there was no way out. If there was, they would have found it by now. The Maze was always the same, a thirty-six day cycle.

The Creators were probably just toying with them, giving them false hope and then watching them crumble when they realised how futile their attempts had been.

Newt crumbled.

 

**Day 283**

“Isn’t it a little early to be going to bed?” Minho asked him. “You haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“I’m not hungry,” Newt said automatically. He had lost track of how many times he’d said that recently. It wasn’t exactly true; but chewing and swallowing seemed like so much effort, and he could never manage more than a few mouthfuls. “Besides, you said you wanted me to sleep more.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean I wanted you to sleep _all the time_ ,” Minho said, exasperated. “And you still need to eat.”

“I do eat,” Newt argued.

“Yeah, sure you do,” Minho rolled his eyes. “You know, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to get any skinnier, but you proved me wrong. You’re skin and bone, Newt. I know you haven’t been eating.”

Newt grunted irritably. “Can I just go to sleep now?”

“Fine,” Minho huffed. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

Newt didn’t answer, turning over in his bed and pulling the sheets more firmly around his shoulders.

 

**Day 293**

It was getting harder and harder to drag himself into the Maze every day. He had started to dread getting up in the morning, knowing he would have to spend all day inside it. He was still haunted by the Griever he had almost run into, and by the many friends who had disappeared into the Maze never to be seen again, or worse, their remains found the next morning. His heart spiked in fear every time he rounded a corner. He was on edge all day, and when he was finished all he wanted to do was go to sleep again and try not to think about the fact that he would have to get up and do the exact same thing tomorrow. It was torture.

_What if you took a knife and cut yourself open. Cut your own heart out._

Newt was a strange mixture of disgusted and intrigued by the thought. It probably wasn’t even possible; he wouldn’t have the strength or the determination. Even if he did, he would die before he finished. But despite himself, the idea took hold of him, and he considered it further.

_The knife would sink into his chest. He would saw back and forth, cutting down into his flesh, blood oozing from the wound. Once he’d cut through the skin, muscle and sinew, he could pry apart his rib cage, cracking the bones open to expose his still-beating heart. And then he would seize it with his hands, stained crimson with his own blood, and rip it out of his chest._

Counterintuitively, he felt himself growing calmer as he pictured the grisly scene. It was almost as though picturing his mental and emotional pain as physical pain helped him deal with it. So even though the thought scared him a little, he let it stay, and he let the image play over and over in his mind. It wasn’t real, and if it wasn’t real, then it couldn’t hurt him. So he let it stay.

It stayed, and took root.

 

**Day 299**

Newt ran, feet pounding the pavement, breath raw and metallic in his throat. He knew he wasn’t paying as close attention as he should be. He hadn’t for some time now. It seemed pointless, when he knew the map would be the same as it always was. The same configuration as thirty-six days ago. Newt practically had them all memorised by now; thirty-six was a lot of Maze maps to remember, but he’d run them all at least half a dozen times by now. They never changed, never deviated from the repeated pattern. So he ran through his section as always, but he didn’t try as hard as he had when he first started as a Runner.

Part of him felt guilty; the others were counting on him. Everyone else was doing their part for the group, and he was slacking. As Minho liked to say, there was always the off chance that something would be different today, so they had to go out and check.

But Newt felt deep in his bones that nothing would be different. They already had all the maps; running the Maze was pointless. The guilt he felt wasn’t enough to overcome the certainty of his conviction.

So he forced himself to run; but if he paid a little less attention, took a little less care than he should, who was to know?

 

**Day 307**

_Take the knife. Run it across your wrist. Push hard, hard enough to break the skin. Really dig in. Take a few practice cuts if you need to. It stings, but that doesn’t matter. Soon you won’t have to worry about pain anymore._

Newt knew he shouldn’t be entertaining these thoughts. It probably wasn’t good for him. Probably.

But he told himself that as long as they were only thoughts, as long as he didn’t actually do any of the things he was imagining, that it was fine. It was helping, even. He felt strangely calmer when he had these thoughts. That had to be a good thing, right? It wasn’t as though he would ever actually do anything to hurt himself.

Of course not. He would never. Minho would never forgive him, for one thing.

_Minho would be fine, eventually. He’d be sad at first, sure, but then he’d get over it. He might even be better off without you. You’re not a very good Runner; you’re bringing Minho down. You’re bringing all the Runners down. They’d like it if you just left. Forever._

Newt was cold and numb. He knew that wasn’t true. He knew it. He knew it.

And yet…

 

**Day 316**

Out in the Maze, he jogged slower and slower until he was hardly faster than a brisk walk. And then he slowed to a stop, directly in front of a particularly tempting patch of ivy. Newt leaned his head back, squinting up at the wall. The ivy went at least halfway up. That had to be at least four or five storeys.

Without stopping to think about what he was doing or why, he grabbed onto the ivy and began to climb. Up and up and up, he pulled himself, sometimes stopping to look down for footholds, then pushing himself up farther. It was difficult work; soon he was panting from exertion, and sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes. He wiped his face on his shoulder, and continued climbing.

When he had gone a decent distance, he stopped and leaned to the side, looking over his shoulder at the ground below. Everything spun around him. His heart started pounding. The ground looked so far away. His mouth felt dry and cracked, breath whistling harshly through his throat.

_Jump_

As terrified as he was, something inside him called to him to jump. To lean back, let go of the wall, and let himself fall.

_Jump_

_Jump_

_JUMP_

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the wall, breathing deeply. His arms were shaking with the effort of holding himself onto the wall. He swallowed twice.

He climbed back down, and continued running.

 

**Day 332**

“Do you believe in an afterlife?” Newt asked abruptly.

“What?” Alby said, confused. They were sitting in the Homestead, eating dinner, when Newt had asked the question out of nowhere.

“Do you think anything happens to us after we die? Do you think we have souls that go on somewhere, or do you think we just cease to exist?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess,” Alby answered, bemused.

“Do you think you used to believe in something? Before we came here?”

“How would I know?” Alby said, starting to get irritated.

“I don’t know,” Newt said, shrugging. “But just, if you had to guess. Do you think you were the kind of person who believed in an afterlife?”

Alby was silent for a moment, and Newt was pleased to see that he was actually considering the question. “You know, I think I am. Or was. I don’t know. But it is a nice thought, isn’t it? That after we die, we get to go somewhere else, maybe somewhere better. And maybe all our friends who… well, maybe they’re all there, waiting for us. I’d like to believe that.”

Newt nodded. “What if it was somewhere worse, though?”

Alby smiled grimly. “It would be hard to be worse than the Maze, at least. But the Glade itself isn’t so bad. I wouldn’t mind living in the Glade, if we weren’t also trapped inside the Maze.”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed. “But maybe ceasing to exist wouldn’t be so bad either.”

“What do you mean? That sounds terrifying.”

“Well…” Newt trailed off, mouth twisting. “I just think it would be a relief, sometimes. To just stop. End. For everything to be over, to not have to exist anymore.”

Alby narrowed his eyes, looking into Newt’s face. “Are you feeling ok?”

“Yeah, of course I am, I’m fine,” Newt said dismissively, but he wondered if Alby noticed that he couldn’t quite meet his eye. He moved on hastily to another topic. “What do you think you were like before the Maze?” he asked.

“I don’t know, probably about the same as I am now? I don’t think I would have been a completely different person. I was still _me_.”

“Yeah, but so much of who you are is made up of your experiences,” Newt argued. “And all of our experiences have been erased. If you’d had completely different experiences, maybe you _would_ be a completely different person.”

“I think some of it would be the same. Maybe more than you think. Some of it is genetic, isn’t it?”

“Who knows how much, though?” Newt pondered. “Maybe I lived through something really traumatic, and that made me react a certain way, become a certain type of person. But then that all got erased, and now I could be someone completely different, because the thing that made me who I was got taken away. It would almost be like there was a whole person who was erased, and then I took their place. Like there was another version of me who existed before, but he’s just gone now. And even if I did get my memories back, I could never really go back to being him, because I would still have all this Maze stuff, and the parts where I didn’t have those memories, mixed in. So in a way it’s like he died. Whoever I was before, he’s dead now.”

“God, you’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Alby laughed. Newt shaped his mouth in his best approximation of a smile in return.

“I wish I remembered even one thing about my family,” Newt said. “I can’t stop thinking about who they might have been, trying to picture them, but it’s impossible without any clue where to start.”

“I know,” Alby sighed. “We’ve all been there, man. I try not to think about it too much. It’ll only make it worse, because as hard as we try we never have any answers. It’s too frustrating.”

“I wish I could just not think about it,” Newt said, shaking his head. “But it won’t leave me alone. I can’t seem to let it lie.”

Alby nodded once, the ends of his mouth quirking down in an expression of apology.

Newt knew they had had this conversation before, over and over, so many times, but he was grateful to Alby for indulging him and playing along. For maybe the hundredth time, he asked: “Why do you think we were put in here?”

“I think....” Alby trailed off, face screwed up in concentration. “I think something really big must have happened for us to be here. Someone put us here, and we don’t know why, but we know there had to have been a reason, and my guess is that it must have been something really big, maybe even something really catastrophic." 

“Maybe we’re actually on a giant spaceship, floating through space, because the earth was destroyed,” Newt suggested, only partially joking. “Maybe we were all kidnapped by aliens, and they’re doing some kind of weird, twisted experiment on us.”

“That’s as good an explanation as any I can come up with,” Alby said.

Newt thought about it a little more. “I don’t know, the technology does seem advanced sometimes but it also feels distinctly human. And there’s the writing on the Maze walls in English, why would that be there if this place was made by aliens?”

“Well, why would it be there if it was made by humans either, except for us to see it? And in that case it would have to be English so we could read it. I think it’s all here just to mess with us, anyway.”

“It’s kind of messed up to think that other human beings could have done this to us,” Newt said. “They’ve just been watching us die, one by one? Who could do that, and why?”

“Some twisted shuck-faces, that’s for sure,” Alby said, shaking his head. “And if we ever do get out of here, I’m not going to waste any time giving them a piece of my mind, I’m just going to straight-up deck the motherfuckers.”

Newt smiled, a genuine smile for once, and his heart felt a fraction lighter. “I sure hope I’m around to witness that,” he said.

Alby smiled back. “Of course you will be. I wouldn’t leave without you, ya dumb shank.”

 

**Day 335**

Newt woke up and prepared to go out into the Maze as usual, but he was met by Minho, who looked oddly somber.

“What is it? What happened?” Newt asked, fear pricking at his heart.

“Alan’s dead,” Minho said bluntly.

“What?” Newt gasped. “But… I thought he was stable? I thought the Med-jacks said he would be fine?”

“They did,” Minho said, his voice dull. “They were wrong. Apparently Larry hit him on the head somewhere, and he had swelling in his brain. He died in the night.”

“Shuck,” Newt whispered. He felt numb with shock, his eyes completely dry. He had cried after so many deaths, but now it was as if he had spent all his tears, and he had none left.

“We’re about to have the Gathering now,” Minho told him. “I’m pretty sure everyone will vote for Banishment.”

“Banishment…” Newt said quietly, voice laced with fear. They had never had to Banish anyone before; until now, it had been only a theoretical possibility.

“He deserves it,” Minho replied bitterly. “I can’t believe Alan’s gone… And it had been so long since we’d lost anyone.”

“You already had Sam ready to go as Alan’s replacement though, right?” Newt asked. “I mean, he wouldn’t have been able to run again for a while, even in the best-case scenario.”

Minho’s eyes flicked up to meet Newt’s, and Newt thought he looked hurt, but he was trying to hide it. “They’ve all been painful,” he said, his voice soft and full of regret. “Every single one. But Alan… I don’t know. He just seemed so _innocent_ somehow. He didn’t deserve this.”

“No, he didn’t,” Newt agreed sadly. “None of them did.”

 

**Day 338**

Newt pulled out the knife he took into the Maze with him, the knife that would be his only defense against a Griever, should he run into one. He pressed his finger lightly against the edge, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a small indent.

He could do it. He could do it right now.

He put the knife up to his wrist. His veins stood out starkly, bright blue glowing through his pale skin, and he traced them with the tip of the knife.

He pushed. The tip of the knife dug into his skin.

He shied away from the pain, pulling the knife back from his skin.

No. He shouldn’t. Not like this, at least.

Not today. Not yet.

Newt didn’t stop to think about when this had gone from an innocent thought exercise to a legitimate plan, one with a date and a method to consider.

 

**Day 344**

“Hey Newt, how’s it going?”

_Take the knife. Cut yourself. Slice your wrists, open your arteries. The blood will be bright red._

Newt forced a smile. “I’m alright, how are you?”

_Find some poison. Something from the Med-jack tent. Drink a whole bottle of rubbing alcohol, or bleach, or something worse._

“Pretty good. We’ve been checking on the pregnant cows to see how they’re coming along.”

_Stab yourself in the chest. Or in the stomach. Or slit your throat. Or there’s an artery behind your knee that would be pretty easy to reach._

“Yeah? How are they looking, everything good?”

_Climb up the wall. Climb all the way up so you know it’s high enough. Jump off. Let yourself fall. It’ll be over as soon as you hit the ground. You won’t feel a thing._

“So far, so good. We still have several months to go, but I’m happy, I think we’re in for several easy births. Everything looks good.”

Newt forced his smile wider. He knew by now, no one would notice the vacancy in his eyes if he smiled enough. “That’s great news. Glad to hear it.”

 

**Day 345**

Newt thought about leaving a note. He got as far as planning out what he would say, planning individual notes to Minho and Alby. He even drafted a few sentences to some of the others; Percy, Billy, Hank.

Then he started thinking about the logistics, how he would get everyone’s note to them, in such a way that they wouldn’t find it until it was too late.

It seemed too complicated; so he abandoned the idea. It was better this way, anyway. Let them think it had been an accident, that he was simply another victim of the Maze. It would be easier on them; they had all lost plenty of friends to the perils of the Maze. He would just be one more in a long list.

 

**Day 356**

It was morning, and the Runners were just setting out to go into the Maze. He spotted Alby and Minho, and headed towards them. This was it. His last chance to talk to the two boys who had been with him through everything, since they had all woken up in this hellish place together. His last chance to say goodbye.

“Hey, Alby, Minho,” Newt called, jogging up to them. He forced a smile; it felt stiff and awkward to him, but it must have passed muster, because Alby and Minho smiled back.

Newt suddenly realised he had no idea what to say to them. How should he say goodbye to his two best friends, without them knowing? How could he tell them everything he wanted to tell them, everything that they meant to him?

He cleared his throat softly. “Do you think we’ll find anything different today?”

“Realistically? Probably not, but hey, you never know,” Minho answered.

Newt nodded, and there was an uncomfortable pause. What should he say? Something simple, he decided, but true. Something that summed up everything between them.

“Hey, so….” he trailed off, floundering. He shook his head, taking a breath, and continued. “Sorry if this is a bit out of the blue, but… well, I don’t say it enough, and I should, so I’m saying it now. I love you two. You’re my best friends. And if… well. We all know what the job is, don’t we?” Newt grimaced. “So if, I dunno, if anything ever happens, I just wanted to tell you, thanks for being my friends. I mean it. I love you guys.”

Minho and Alby exchanged puzzled glances. “We love you too, man,” Alby said, a confused smile on his face. “You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, lots of love,” Minho said, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling too. “Now can we get a move on, before I start puking?”

The sincerity of Alby’s response, and the comfortingly familiar snark of Minho’s, brought to Newt’s face the first genuine smile in he couldn’t remember how long. This was good. This was a good way to leave his friends, a good final exchange to have. Nice, familiar, and feeling so strongly of _them_. Their friendship. His resolve solidified. This would be the last conversation he ever had with his friends, and he was okay with that.

“Alright, let’s get going then, shanks,” he said, and started jogging towards the North doors.

“Hey Newt, wait,” Minho called. Newt stopped running and turned back to face him. Alby, already heading off to the East doors, waved back at them, but kept running. Minho continued, “I want to let Ark train a little longer with Percy before letting him go solo, but then I think he can become a full-time Runner and you can have a break, ok? You’ve been doing this a long time, you deserve a rest.” Minho smiled at him.

“Yeah, sure. That would be great.” Newt smiled back, but he felt like crying. Before Minho could notice anything was wrong, he turned away again and ran off into the Maze.

…

He was running, but he wasn’t keeping track of where. He took turns at random.

Then he was walking, aimlessly, no destination in mind. One foot, then the other. Again and again. There was a fog in his brain, and buzzing filled his ears.

He stopped. Turned. Around, all the way around. He was surrounded. Surrounded by walls.

Walls. Ivy. Climbing. Push from legs, pull with arms. Stop for rest. Continue.

Throat dry. Arms shaking. Heart pounding. Head spinning. Dizzy. Nauseous. Legs weak. Numb.

_Numb. Weak._

A sudden moment of clarity. Newt looked around. He was about halfway up one of the walls, clinging to the ivy. His hands ached from being clenched tight for so long. He looked down. The ground looked so far away. Blood rushed in his ears.

_This is it. Now. Do it now._

_NOW._

Hands opening. Releasing the vines. Hands, feet, knees, pushing off. Pushing off from the wall. Flying.

_Falling falling terror wind rushing falling._

Impact.

Pain.

Pain.

_Pain._

Leg. _Hurts._

Head. _Hurts._

Chest. _Hurts._

Breathing. _Hurts._

Everything. _Hurts._

_You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up._

Not dead.

_Not dead. Hurts._

Then:

Vision, fading.

Nothing.

_Nothing. Relief._

 

 

Pain.

_Pain._

PAIN.

Eyes open. Alby. Alby?

Alby. Alby is speaking. _What is he saying?_

Alby is angry. Alby is yelling. Alby is dragging Newt.

_No. No! Stop!_

_Pain. Incredible pain. Intense pain._

_STOP!_

“STOP!” Newt screamed. Alby stopped dragging him.

“I know it hurts, Newt,” Alby said, and dimly Newt registered that there were tears in his eyes. “But I have to. I’m sorry. I can’t leave you here. This is going to hurt, but I have to get you back to the Glade.”

“No,” Newt groaned. “Just leave me. I want to die.”

“I can’t do that,” Alby answered him. “I already made a promise to Minho that I’d bring you back, and I always keep my promises.”

Alby started dragging him again, and stars exploded behind his eyes. The bones in his leg felt like they were being pulled apart, slowly, in a thousand different directions.

“NO!” The sound ripped from Newt’s throat, leaving it raw. “I WANT TO DIE. JUST LET ME DIE!”

The pain was overwhelming, it was all around him and through him. The pain was a part of him, fused to his cells, permanent. His leg was on fire, in agony, stabbing pains shooting through it, all the way down. Even the act of screaming hurt, his chest searing with every breath. His vision swam, receding at the edges, and for one blissful moment he thought he would pass out again, but then it came rushing back, his mind stubbornly clinging to consciousness.

Alby didn’t relent. He dragged Newt on and on, back to the Glade. Eventually unconsciousness did claim him, and Newt went with it gratefully. As he was carried off to oblivion, his last coherent thought was the wish that he would never wake up.

 

**Day 359**

He woke up slowly, morning light filtering through his lashes, gradually bringing him back to the world of the living. He was in a bed, and when he opened his eyes more fully, he saw that he was in a room in the Homestead.

He turned his head to the side, and there was Alby, sitting in a chair at the side of his bed.

“Hey,” Alby said, his voice surprisingly gentle. He flashed Newt a quiet smile. “How are you feeling?”

Newt sat up slowly, and as he tried to move his right leg he realised it was bound in a stiff plaster cast. He took a moment to find his voice. “A bit like I’ve been run over twice, hit over the head with a baseball bat, and tossed off a cliff,” he rasped. “So, y’know, better than expected. How are you here? Who’s running your section?” They’d only had one reserve Runner left since Alan died, and with both Newt and Alby out, there were two empty spots to be filled.

“No one. We’re just leaving section four unmapped for today.”

“Minho let you leave a section unmapped?” Newt asked in shock.

“Yeah, well,” Alby shrugged. “We both wanted someone to be here when you woke up.”

Newt looked away, feeling self-conscious. He felt like a child that needed to be watched over, supervised. A burden.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Alby said. “You were out for three days. We weren’t sure if you would make it.” His voice had grown slightly rough, as though he were holding back tears. “By the way, I’ve told everyone you were attacked by a Griever. You can decide if you want to stick to that story or not.”

Newt looked down, shame washing over him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. The apology felt so inadequate. He tried to think of something else to say, to explain, but how could he explain? How could he possibly make Alby understand?

Alby nodded. “So,” he said, clearing his throat, “we need to talk.”

Newt’s throat burned and his eyes stung. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Alby’s eye, not yet. Instead, he looked somewhere around Alby’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for being angry and yelling at you when I first found you. I’m trying not to be angry anymore, because I know that’s not helpful, but I just don’t understand… what were you thinking?” Alby asked, his voice breaking. “Why would you… How could you do something like that to yourself? I just, I don’t understand.” Newt saw a tear slip down Alby’s cheek. He could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Alby cry, and still have fingers left over.

Newt’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know if I can explain it,” he said quietly. “It’s… I just wanted to get out. I couldn’t take it anymore, being here. I had to get out. And that was the only way I knew how.” The tears brimming in his eyes spilled over. Once he had started, the dam broke, and the tears kept coming, fast and thick.

“I know living here isn’t easy,” Alby said, voice heavy with emotion, “but it’s not bad all the time. And it’s been getting better; we’ve been losing fewer and fewer people. And we can improve even more. If we have to live here, let’s make the best of it.” Newt knew he meant well, but Alby’s words seemed to hammer into him. _He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand._ He cried even harder.

“I hate it here,” Newt sobbed. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I hate being trapped, I hate being spied on, being manipulated and used for fuck knows what purpose, I hate watching my friends die. And I hate that stupid _fucking_ Maze. I hate it so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Alby said, the pain evident on his face. “I know, I’m sorry. I hate it too. But we might still get out, there’s still a chance.”

“We’re never getting out of here, Alby. Never. Death is the only way out.”

“Maybe,” Alby conceded, shrugging helplessly. “But that doesn’t mean we have to give up. Why don’t we stay here, and build something? I already told you I probably won’t be a Runner much longer either; stay with me, in the Glade, and help me build something. We’ll never have to go out in the Maze again. We can make a home for ourselves, here. A home for all of us. It might take a while, but we can do it. One step at a time.”

Newt considered it. He didn’t know if he could ever think of this place as a true home, not when they were still trapped inside the Maze. But what Alby said did ignite a small spark inside of him. It wasn’t hope, not yet; it was more like curiosity. Maybe they could build something to be proud of here. Maybe he could do something to help some of the other Gladers, even if he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was possible. And maybe he wanted to stick around to see if it was.

But it was still difficult to see past the walls of the Maze, looming over him, surrounding him, always. He would never be free.

“Newt,” Alby said, reaching out and taking Newt’s hand in his. “I need you to do something for me. I need you to promise me, promise me you’ll never do something like this again. That you’ll never,” he paused, swallowing. “That you’ll never try to kill yourself again.”

Newt blinked, looking back down at his sheets. “I don’t know if I can promise that,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Please, Newt,” Alby pleaded. “Please promise me this. I need you here with me, Newt. No matter what happens, say you won’t give up, that you’ll keep going. I need you to do this for me.”

Newt groaned in frustration. How could Alby ask this of him? It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t promise what Alby asked. He didn’t know what would happen in the future, and he wouldn’t make a promise that he couldn’t keep.

Newt looked into Alby’s face, saw his eyes shining with tears, and he looked so anxious and concerned, that Newt relented. “Ok, fine,” he said, blinking back tears. “I promise.”

Alby’s eyes flashed with relief, and the hint of a smile flickered across his face. “Thank you, Newt. And if you ever feel like you want to… hurt yourself, or something, you know you can always come talk to me about it.”

Newt nodded, but privately he doubted that he would ever be able to talk to Alby about this. He didn’t understand what was happening in his own head, how could he talk to someone else about it? And even if he could, what good would it do? But he wanted to reassure Alby, if only to make up for what he had put him through the last few days. He was still far from certain he would be able to keep the promise he had made, but he would try his best. _What was it Alby had said?_ One step at a time. He would have to take this, his life, one day at a time, one step at a time.

And for now, for today, he chose to live.


	2. Alby

Alby needed Newt. He was Alby’s perfect complement; all his greatest strengths were exactly the areas where Alby was weakest. Communication, connecting with people, setting people at ease. Alby had so many ideas, so many plans for how to improve their life in the Glade, but he needed Newt’s help to implement them.

But more than that, he just needed Newt around. Newt was his oldest and best friend; at least, ever since he could remember, which admittedly wasn’t long. Alby couldn’t exactly define it, but there was something special about Newt. Everyone liked him; everyone trusted his opinion. Everyone trusted him, period.

Lately, Alby had been worried about Newt. He hadn’t seemed himself. When they had first started running the Maze, he had been so sure of success, so eager to help, so full of energy and enthusiasm and hope. And now… now, Alby hardly recognised his best friend.

That morning had seemed ordinary enough at the time; it was only in retrospect that Alby realised anything had been amiss. True, Newt had been oddly sentimental just before they ran into the Maze, but Alby had wanted to take that as a sign that he was pulling himself out of the funk he had been stuck in for so many weeks. But in reality, it had been the opposite.

He and Minho were in the map room, sketching up their maps for the day, when Minho spoke up suddenly. “You haven’t seen Newt, have you?” Minho frowned, his brow knitting together and mouth pressed down.

“Actually, I haven’t,” Alby answered, eyes narrowing in concern. “Isn’t he normally back by now?”

“He’s normally one of the first back,” Minho confirmed. “Shuck, I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing, but…”

“What?”

“I was just thinking…” Minho said, biting his lip. “Remember how weird he was this morning? Almost like… like he knew something was going to happen, or…”

“Or like he was planning something,” Alby finished for him, cold dread washing over him. _Not Newt. Please, god, not Newt._

“You don’t think he…” Minho trailed off. Alby couldn’t bring himself to fill in the rest, either.

He looked at his watch. “It’s about an hour until the doors close.”

“He should definitely be back by now,” Minho said. There was no way to miss the wild terror in his eyes, the tremor in his voice. Minho needed Newt just as much as Alby did.

It took him all of five seconds to come to a decision. “I’m going to look for him,” Alby said.

“I’m coming with you,” Minho said immediately.

Alby shook his head. “No, you should stay here. You’re the Keeper, Nick will be furious if you break the rules, but you can pretend you didn’t know I was going in. It’s ok, I’ll find him, I promise.” Alby tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t sure he could keep that promise.

“I’m coming with you,” Minho said again, angrier this time.

“We’re wasting time arguing about this!” Alby said, his voice rising with urgency. “We’ll be in enough trouble as it is, we can’t risk more people! Stay here, I’ll find him. I’ll bring him back.” Before Minho could answer, Alby turned around and took off running toward the North doors. He closed his eyes and uttered a brief prayer of thanks when he didn’t hear Minho running after him. He knew it must be killing Minho to stay behind, but it had to be this way. And Alby would find Newt. He _would_ find him, and bring him back. Everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine. He couldn’t let himself consider any other alternative.

Alby noticed immediately there was no trail to follow, no vines marking the way Newt had gone. _Because he hadn’t planned on coming back,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Alby pushed it away and kept running as fast as he could, desperately searching for Newt.

At last, he spotted something lying in an intersection. Running closer, he saw that it was Newt’s pack, abandoned. Pulse pounding in terror, he looked around wildly, scanning, seeking.

There. Down a side corridor, lying in a jumbled heap. It looked like… a body. Alby ran towards it, heart in his throat.

It was Newt.

The first thing Alby noticed was the odd angle of Newt’s leg. _That couldn’t be good._

The second thing he noticed was the blood. Surprisingly, not as much as he might have thought, but still a frightening amount.

The third thing he noticed was Newt’s chest, moving up and down. Not much; barely enough to be noticable, but enough. Newt was still alive. Probably in horrible pain, judging by the leg and the blood, but alive.

His stomach clenched and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, but he shoved it down. He could do this. He had to do this. Newt’s life depended on it.

 _God, how could Newt have done this?_ A surge of anger filled Alby, anger at Newt for hurting himself, anger at the Creators for putting them here in the first place, anger at the entire world.

“What in the shucking hell did you do?” He screamed at Newt. “You stupid shuck-face, if you die I swear to fuck I’ll rip your goddamn head off!”

Alby bent down and seized Newt under the shoulders, dragging him backward.

Suddenly Newt was screaming, and the sound was so shocking, so full of wild and incomprehensible agony, that Alby stopped dragging him.

“I know it hurts, Newt,” Alby said, tears springing into his eyes. “But I have to. I’m sorry. I can’t leave you here. This is going to hurt, but I have to get you back to the Glade.”

“No,” Newt said, and Alby’s hear clenched painfully. “Just leave me. I want to die.”

“I can’t do that,” Alby said. “I already made a promise to Minho that I’d bring you back, and I always keep my promises.” Alby braced himself for Newt’s screams, then began pulling him again, dragging him along the pavement.

“NO! I WANT TO DIE. JUST LET ME DIE!”

The sound was inhuman. It chilled Alby to his core, but he knew he had to keep going. One torturous step at a time, he pulled Newt back to the Glade. At some point, Newt lost consciousness again, and Alby kept dragging him, grateful that his screams were finally silenced, but terrified this meant all his efforts would end up being for nothing.

He had no idea how they made it. They almost didn’t; the doors began to close not thirty seconds after they crossed the threshold. If Minho hadn’t run out to help him carry Newt, they might not have.

A few other boys were milling around nearby when Minho and Alby carried Newt’s lifeless body into the Glade just in time, and when they saw what was happening, a small crowd quickly gathered.

Alby had to tell them something. He could at least buy Newt some time to decide what he wanted to tell everyone. _Assuming he survived, of course._ “It was a Griever,” he stated grimly, knowing the others wouldn’t question a Griever attack too closely. “Almost got him.”

Clint was one of the people nearby, and he began calling for other Med-jacks, shouting instructions at them, asking for a stretcher and med supplies to be brought. He turned and addressed Alby. “Was he stung?”

Alby shook his head. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. Just… this.” He gestured to Newt’s leg.

Clint swore. Alby knew why; he and Minho hadn’t had time to be gentle, and they had probably mangled Newt’s leg even more while carrying him to safety. Alby felt a stab of guilt, but he told himself that it had been necessary. He hadn’t had any other choice.

The other Med-jacks arrived, and Alby watched as they loaded Newt onto the stretcher, trying to keep his leg as stable as possible, and carried him away to the Med-jack tent. Now there was nothing for him to do but wait.

Wait, and hope and pray that Newt didn’t get what he wanted after all.


End file.
